


Perfect pair

by Kjam



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sandor, Mistaken Identity, No underage, Secret Identity, Shireen is sixteen, sandor is seventeen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kjam/pseuds/Kjam
Summary: "Would you... Could you love someone who is ugly? Like they have something wrong with their face?"There it is, the question he dreaded. She knows about his scars.Sandor is to be married to Shireen Baratheon, a girl he knows nothing about. The night before the betrothal feast, while wandering through the castle he meets a strange girl with strange questions and he can't even see her properly because of the dark. He introduces himself with a fake name to get to know his bride before the wedding. She seems nice, but then she starts asking about his scars...or so he thinks.Shireen doesn't know anything about her fiancé, so when she meets Sam, the squire she takes the opportunity to ask him about Sandor Clegane. Then she asks the question that's been bothering her: can she be loved with an ugly face?
Relationships: Shireen Baratheon/Sandor Clegane
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Perfect pair

**Author's Note:**

> Sandor and Shireen are about the same age! No underage! Also, this is before Sandor became the Hound, so he is a bit more soft and positive. Just a tiny bit. Comments are always welcome!

“You two will be the perfect pair.”

Sandor’s father says, and he really doesn’t like that laugh, but he doesn’t dare to ask any more questions.

So he is to be married. It was bound to happen sooner or later because with Gregor in the King’s Guard he is the one who is supposed to carry the Cleagane line on, but he hoped he would have a few more years. Guess not. Sandor clomps down the staircase, hurrying to the courtyard. He grabs his sword and starts to practice against one of the squires, and he makes more mistakes than he would like to. A bride. That’s just what he fucking needed. A girl, who is no doubt already terrified of him if she heard even half a word about the Cleagene kid whose face is marred with burn marks. What parent would damn their own child to this fate? What did his father promise to make this deal worth its price? A Baratheon girl, too, not just some maiden from a no-name house. He doesn’t even know her name. Father didn’t tell him, and he didn’t ask. He regrets that now. It would be nice to at least know his bride’s name. He is so deep in his thoughts he isn’t paying attention to the bout. His defense is too weak, too unbalanced, and the squire's sword makes a cut on his arm.

“Fuck! Seven hells!”

The boy immediately drops his sword, and stammers:

“My lord, are you alright? I didn’t mean…”

“Shut up! And never drop your sword during a fight, even if it’s practice. I could’ve killed you.”

“Should I fetch the Maester?”

“Just a graze. I can take care of it myself.”

He has everything in his room to take care of the wound. He gets injured often enough to have a need for it, sometimes during practice, sometimes by his father. Although since Sandor got stronger than him he doesn’t raise his hand on him so often, maybe afraid that one day he will get fed up and go on a rampage just like Gregor used to. He clenches his theath as he cleans the cut out. This will scar. But who cares about one more scar? He is ugly with or without it. He hopes, in a tiny corner of his mind, that maybe his bride will be able to see through the scars, with time. But he would be a fool to hope.

He is standing on the rampart the day she arrives. Formally, he should be the one greeting her, but father took one look at him and sneered.

“Get out of here, boy. We don’t want to scare her away the first day. It’s enough if she sees your ugly mug on the betrothal feast. I need this deal done, so behave yourself.”

Maybe it’s truly better this way. He doesn’t want to see his bride faint or turn her gaze away with disgust as it happened before when young ladies saw him for the first time. He should be in his room but wants to get a glance at her. He doesn’t know what he expects. She musn’t be a great beauty if she is married off to him, but still, he wants to see. Lady Selyse Baratheon, her mother leaves the carriage first. She is very tall and thin, wearing all black. Sandor has heard that following her husband's death she carried on wearing black, even after the mourning year has ended. Her daughter follows her. Unlike her mother she is short, but that’s all Sandor can see, because she is heavily veiled. Maybe she is one of those girls who are afraid that the sun will mare their face, or maybe it’s tradition, he doesn’t know. He returns to his chamber disappointed.

There are too many thoughts racking his brain for him to sleep. He goes to a hidden corner of the tower, a place he is sure no one will be at this hour. He often goes here, to hide from the Maesters or his father, or simply to think. He elbows on the stone wall, looking down on the yard, wanting to let his thoughts run free. But before he could do so, a small noise broke him away from his thoughts. His head snaps to his side, where a small figure emerged from the shadows.

“Who’s there?”

“I’m sorry I startled you, I didn’t mean to.” Answered a young female voice.

Sandor snorts. Startled? He doesn’t get startled by little girls.

“Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

“I’m Shireen. I went on an evening stroll and ended up here.”

Shireen? That can’t be…

“You are the Baratheon girl!”

She sighs.

“Yes, I’m. And who are you?”

He answers with the first name that comes to his mind.

“I’m Sam. I’m a squire here.”

He doesn’t know why he lied, but maybe this is a gift, to get to know his bride, at least a little, under the blessed disguise of the night. No scars, no faces, just their voices.

“I guess you saw us arrive then.”

“Weren’t much to see, with all that veil.”

“Mother thought it was the best this way.” Comes the quiet reply.

After a few moments of awkward silence, she speaks up again.

“This seems like a nice place to live.”

“This place is a shithole.”

“Oh.”

That tiny “Oh” sounds so sad, Sandor immediately wants to take back his words. Quick. What would a girl like about a place like this?

"But the forest around it is nice. Good for riding. And there are dogs."

"Dogs?"

"Yeah. For hunting. My gran... my liege's father was a kennel master. That's how he got this place."

"He got this place because of dogs?"

He tells her the story he knows so well, has heard it a thousand times by his grandfather and his father. How his grandfather and his dogs saved Lord Tytos's life from a lion, and in return received lordship and Cleagene's Keep. She seems interested enough in the story.

"A better story than my house's for sure. And at least I won't have to learn pages and pages of my husband's ancestors."

After a little hesitation, she adds.

"Do you know him? My Lord husband?"

"Of course."

"Can you tell me about him? What is he like?"

What is he supposed to say to a question like that? What is he like?

“Well, you are better off with him than his brother.”

“I wish I had a brother. Mother always says I should have been a boy. After father died she didn’t speak about it anymore, but she didn’t speak to me, at all, too.”

“Having a brother is sometimes way worse than not having one. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience.”

“Is your brother that bad?”

“Worse.”

A little silence.

“But really, what my fiancé is like?

"I don't really know. I guess he isn't that bad. Swears, has no manners and doesn't speak that much, and he probably has no idea what to do around fine ladies like yourself, but he isn't cruel. He ain't no knight in shining armor, but he tries his best to be fair to those who deserve it."

"You must really like him if you say such kind words about him."

Sandor laughs.

"Like him? Didn't you hear half of the stuff I said, girl?"

"Yes, but manners and such can be improved, or if not they are not that important after all. If he is good at the heart, that's what matters."

"I never said he was kind at the heart or such bullshit."

"No, but you implied it."

She hasn't asked about the scars yet. Maybe she doesn't know?

"Sam, can I ask you something?"

She sounds nervous.

"Would you... Could you love someone who is ugly? Like they have something wrong with their face?"

There it was. The topic he dreaded. He wants to grab and shake her, shout it in her face that he wasn’t a monster, he wasn’t unloveable because of those fucking scars.

“How the fuck should I know, girl?” He growls.

There is a hand on his arm, feather-light touch.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just really want to know the answer to this question, and you seem like an honest man, who doesn’t hide behind polished truths and courtesies.”

“No one loves ugly people, not at first. Maybe only their mothers.”

“Not all mothers.”

“What?”

“Nothing, go on.”

Sandor feels like he should just shut up and leave. But he wants her to understand.

“When people look at beautiful men and women they just assume they are good and smart and honorable. I’ll tell you the truth, girl. Looks have nothing to do with what a man is. I have known people with smooth skin, and charming smiles who killed and lied without even blinking. And still, people loved them.”

“So it’s hopeless to be loved if you are ugly?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So what do you say?”

“Quit pestering me girl. I have spoken more tonight than I usually do in a month and you are still not satisfied.”

“Well, you didn’t answer my question.”

Huh. This girl has guts, harassing a stranger she met less than an hour ago with her strange questions.

“Well, I don’t know if they can be loved.”

I don’t know if I can be loved. Can you love me? Can you be the one to prove, against all odds, that I’m lovable?

“Maybe, not at first, but with time. After you get to know them, not just how they look, but how they really are. Then I think the right person can love them.”

Sandor has no idea how did he come up with such gibberish. But it seems to satisfy Shireen. She finds his hand with hers and squeezes it.

"Thank you, Sam. It means a lot to me that you think this. I just wish others would, too."

There is a horn-call, signaling guard-mounting. Shireen lets go of his hand and Sandor finds himself instantly missing her touch.

"I should go. Thank you for this conversation. You are very kind, Sam. Maybe you can show me the dogs later? Only if my Lord husband allows it, of course."

"I'm sure he will."

She brushes next to him, then she is gone, only leaving a faint scent of lilac behind her.

Sandor can't sleep that night, recalling their conversation over and over again.

He is supposed to be introduced to his bride just a few minutes before the feast. He dresses in fancy clothes that were made for this occasion and tries to comb his hair over his scars, not that it's worth anything. He spots her in the hall, and his heart starts beating faster. Shireen courtesies deeply, and only when she rights herself and Sandor sees her face, marred by greyscale, does he realize that she wasn't talking about him yesterday. She was talking about herself. They stare at each other for a while, their scars mirroring the others, then Shireen smiles at him, a hopeful little smile and Sandor takes her hand and smiles back.

Yes, maybe they will be the perfect pair.


End file.
